One word after another
by caskettpr0n
Summary: "This is how you do it: you sit down at the keyboard and you put one word after another until its done. It's that easy, and that hard." ― Neil Gaiman. This is a series of one-shots, each unrelated to the other. Fills to Tumblr prompts, either sent to me, or ones I've sought out. Some will be rated M.
1. Rise

**eccentricityincarnate on Tumblr said: ****_what if season 7 started with Kate waking up from a coma only to realize that seasons 4, 5, & 6 were all a dream after her shooting and promptly began making out with a bewildered Castle's face? someone write me this fanfic._**

**I tackled it and here is the result.**

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**Episode spoilers: 6x23 and 4x01**

**AU. **

**Rated: K**

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**Again and For the First Time**

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Kate falls into bed, sobs wracking her body. The wedding dress lays across a chair, neatly discarded. He's gone. He left her. His body charred, those shining eyes closed forever. She falls asleep from exhaustion and despair sometime around three in the morning…

…and wakes feeling like she has slept forever. The bright light in the room burns through her eyelids as they struggle to open, and she thinks she might just keep them closed a little longer. Why open them? She won't see him. She won't ever see him again. If she keeps them closed she can pretend he's still here.

Her brain is hazy still, shrouded in a sadness she can't brush away, and her heart aches.

It physically hurts.

She lost him.

She might not survive this.

"Beckett?"

She can still hear his voice. She hopes she never forgets it.

"Beckett?"

A squeeze of her hand follows the sound of her name being uttered by his voice and it confuses her.

"I think she's waking up."

But she doesn't want to wake up, doesn't want to face a world without him in it.

She forces her eyes open, and the white of the room is as blinding as she anticipated behind closed lids. She blinks fiercely against it, the white light, white walls, white sheets. She blinks, agitated and afraid now. This isn't her room.

"Hey, it's okay," his voice soothes.

It's not okay. It will never be okay again.

She turns towards the sound of his voice, sees her hand encased in his, sees his shirt, his face. His shining eyes. His upturned lips.

"Castle?" she breathes out in confusion.

"Welcome back, Beckett," he says gently.

"What?" she asks, voice hoarse, tears threatening to fall. He's alive? "You died."

Concern darkens his eyes for a moment, before he holds her hand a little tighter and says, "No, I'm fine," he assures her. "But you were shot, at Montgomery's funeral. A sniper—"

"I remember," she interrupts. "But that was almost three years ago."

"No," he says, brow furrowed. "It was three days ago."

"What?" she repeats again. And then she's really looking at him. She slips her hand out from his and reaches up to cup his jaw. Her thumb brushes across his cheek, and the first tears slip down her cheeks. "You didn't die."

He's silent, uncharacteristically so, for a moment while he holds her eyes, the pad of her thumb still caressing his skin. "I didn't die," he tells her gently.

"Three days?" she asks then, her voice uneven, her damaged heart still broken.

"You've been asleep."

"I dreamed it all?"

He leans into her touch. "What did you dream?"

_A rainy evening; making love against your bedroom door; finding out about Bracken; learning how to let myself be loved so completely I couldn't imagine this life without you; an engagement ring; saying yes; almost losing you; planning our future; thinking about children; almost losing myself; taking down Bracken; the beginning of the rest of our lives together; a car in flames…_ "You died."

"I didn't," he promises.

The relief of the reality of the dream is overpowered by the pain of realizing all that happiness they'd shared hadn't even been real. But he's alive, and there's hope, because she remembers his words. She remembers the damp grass, the smell of the sodden earth, and she remembers his voice.

"You love me?" she asks.

He doesn't look away. He holds her gaze, and nods. "You heard me?"

"Did you mean it."

"Yes."

"Say it again," she pleads.

"I love you, Kate."

Her hand slips behind his neck, and she draws him to her, until their lips meet. He kisses her gently, mindful of the damage to her heart, the hole in her chest. She sobs against his lips; she cries for all she thought they'd had, and all she thought she had lost. She cries from the joy of still having a chance to live it.

Again.

And for the first time.


	2. Veritas

**Tumblr prompt: **_**Can you write a Veritas post-ep? Something that links to the DC arc, maybe add a scene with Kate and her mom's ring, and some smut would be good too. Thanks!**_

**Thank you, Anon. I'm sorry, I didn't have access to the episode itself, or season 6 at all. I had to post-ep this from memory, so hopefully I didn't get too many details wrong. **

**Set: S6. _Veritas_ post-ep.**

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**Only Scars Remain**

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Kate watched as the MPD squad car merged onto the crowded DC street, mixing with the traffic until it became just another white car in a sea of many. Bracken, on his way to the precinct, before his inevitable transfer to New York in the morning, gone from her sight for now, but still on her mind.

She tightened her hold on Castle, and let out a sigh, let out fifteen years of darkness from her life in one long breath. When she inhaled again she felt lighter.

"Let's get out of here," Castle said, his lips near her ear as he spoke, warming her skin, and breathing her in. The furore on the steps began to grow louder again, and he could see them looking now, could see their eyes trained on Beckett, on the arresting officer.

Grazing her lips against his jacket, she pulled back, just enough to stand face-to-face with him, their noses almost touching. "What time is the flight?" she asked.

Castle bumped her nose with the tip of his. "We're not flying back tonight," he told her. Nodding back at the crowd descending the steps, he added, "and we can argue about that elsewhere."

Kate turned, found faces turned to her, recording devices pointed her way, and nodded. She fell into step beside him as they steadily made their way to the rental. "If we're not flying back, where are we going?" she asked as she slipped into the passenger side, allowing him to drive.

"Really?" he asked in surprise. He started the car, but glanced at her before checking the street was clear and pulling out. "No arguments about needing to get back tonight?"

"My mother's life ended because of that man. Over a decade of my life has been dedicated to finding him and bringing him to justice." She gave him a small smile. "I need a night off."

"And that's exactly what I have in mind." He stole a quick glance at her, before returning his eyes to the road ahead. "How are you, Kate?"

Beckett watched as the DC streets whizzed by, but she saw none of it. "I can't describe it," she murmured. She turned to him and added, "I need your words now."

But he had none either. He was at a loss for where to even begin, to understand what she was feeling. To say she was relieved would be flippant. He wasn't sure there were words strong enough in the English lexicon for her emotions right now.

Silence fell between them. Kate began to truly understand what it all meant for her, for her family, for them, and he wrestled for words. Her eyes finally began to take in the scenery outside. "Where are we going?" she asked when the silence threatened to engulf them completely.

"Home."

Beckett turned to him, her eyebrows lifting in surprise. 'You still own it?"

"You still have the key, right?"

"Yes," she replied. "I- You kept the apartment?"

"Never knew when we might need it."

She smiled at that.

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A short while later he eased the car into the underground parking, and into his space. "Ready to go check it out?"

Kate nodded. "Please."

Carrying their light overnight bags, they rode the elevator up, Kate leaning against him during the short ride, mentally drained after the past few days. Her head still throbbed from the wound she had received, and she just wanted to eat and then crawl into bed and sleep for a week.

Castle led the way to their apartment, slid the key into the lock, and held the door open for her. "Our home," he announced as he flipped the switch and bathed the apartment in a warm light.

Kate entered and dropped her bag just inside the door. It was small, but cozy, just enough for the two of them, with basic furnishings, and tasteful décor.

Castle dropped his own bag, closed the door behind them, and steered her towards the couch. He eased her down beside him on the cool leather, and with hands on her hips turned her away from him.

"What are you doing?" she asked, bemused by his behavior.

"Just trust me?" he asked gently.

She allowed her body to be carefully positioned where he needed her, and then his hands slid up her back and his fingers gingerly made their way into her hair. "If I hurt you, tell me."

"I trust you," she promised softly.

He carefully parted her hair, and checked her head wound, making sure not to touch it directly or tug at her hair.

"How does it look?" she asked, her voice low.

"Looks okay," he promised. "Lanie did a good job."

"Easy to work on your patient when they're unconscious," she said mirthlessly.

He rearranged her hair, and then pulled her against him as he leaned back against the couch cushions. "Still sore I bet."

"Hurts like a bitch," she admitted.

"Painkillers or wine?" he asked her.

Kate considered it for a moment, and then replied, "Wine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." He pressed a kiss to her temple, and then slid out from beside her. She watched while he filled two glasses from a wine bottle he had produced from his bag.

"Is that-?"

"The kind that makes you-?"

"Yeah." She grinned.

"Yes," he replied, throwing her a wink. He returned to the couch, passing her a glass as he sat down beside her. She accepted it, and clinked her glass to his. "It's over, Kate," he said.

"It's over," she agreed.

"And now we forget about that _man,_" he said, clenching his teeth on the word 'man', "until tomorrow. "

"Sounds good to me." She filled her mouth with the wine, let it dance over her tongue, slide down her throat, and begin to work its magic. And then, in an instant, it all hit her, and she swallowed down a sob. Placing her glass on the small coffee table, she then took his from him, her hand shaking as she did so, placed it down next to her own, threw her arms around his neck, and lost her resolve. She buried her head into the crook of his neck, rested her lips against his soft skin, and the tears began to flow. He wrapped his arms around her, brought her body even closer to his, and held her through it. He didn't speak again; he ran the tips of his fingers up and down her back, and rocked her gently. Safe in his arms she cried until she had no more tears to spare, until her sobs were soft, broken hiccups, and all the pain hoarded through the years had been released.

"Thank you," she finally said, after her breathing had evened out again, and her cheeks were almost dry. "Thank you doesn't seem enough, but thank you, for ignoring my wishes in the first place, and helping me get to this point. Thank you."

"You did this, Kate."

"We did it together. I would be dead without you, and Bracken would have gotten away with it."

She pulled back, and smiled warmly. Her fingers tugged the chain over her head, and she dipped her eyes to the rings. Undoing the clasp, she slid both off the chain. She placed the chain carefully on the coffee table, slipped her engagement ring on her finger, and then held her mother's ring up between them and met his eyes once more. "There is a box in my apartment. When we return, tomorrow, I'll be placing this in the box for the last time." She closed her fist around the ring, squeezed it tightly, and then relaxed. "Come on," she said. "Let's go to bed."

He didn't care that the sun was only starting to go down as he led the way to the lone bedroom, one of her hands firmly grasped in his, her other hand holding tight to her mom's ring. "Bathroom," he told her, pointing as they passed it.

"Your office?"

"Behind you," he replied. "And that's the tour."

She smiled. It was small, but it was perfect. She knew she would love this place from the moment he had handed her the key, and being here now only cemented that love. She dropped his hand, stole a kiss from his lips, placed her mom's ring in a drawer beside the bed, and then made her way to the bathroom, to find two new toothbrushes and her favorite shampoo awaiting, and found herself amazed by his ability to find the time to organize everything. She brushed her teeth and washed the make-up from her face. She was already removing her clothes as she exited. They swapped places, and while he used the bathroom she peeled the last of her clothing from her body, arranged it tidily on the small chair beside the bed, and then slipped under the sheets - free of the weight she had carried on her shoulders for too long. It still hurt, the loss of her mom, but the wounds were finally closed, until now only scars remained where the raw bleeding loss had once been.

Castle re-entered the bedroom, clad in just his boxers and a tee, and stumbled wearily to his side of the bed, the last few days catching up with him now as well.

He pulled back the sheets, and smiled when he saw her bare flesh. With a shrug, and a smile, he tugged his shirt over his head, slid his boxers down his legs, and joined her beneath the sheets.

He opened his arms and she rolled into them, her back to him as she settled. She pressed her bare flesh to his, felt his hardening length pressing against her back, and sighed as his hand brushed her hair aside and his lips found the back of her neck. "Love you," she whispered.

"Love you," he replied, breathing the words against her skin between kisses. "Always."


	3. Future

_**This was a response to a gif. If you need the visual, head to my tumblr: caskettpr0n, and it's: post / 91014267798 / his-lips-still-find-her-scar-sometimes-wrapped-in**_

**Set: Season 5 and beyond. Rated: M.**

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His lips still find her scar sometimes.  
Wrapped in Castle's arms, her warm skin pressed to his, his lips still seek it out, that small imperfection that marks her flesh. He kisses her, between her breasts, travels just a little higher, and then worships one particular spot. He lingers there, his lips ghosting her scar, able to feel the beat of her heart beneath. His eyes drift shut, and it's all either can focus on for a moment, the drum-like beat that's slowing down now, steadying, while she rests in his arms.  
She holds him there, with a palm cradling the back of his head, fingers threading through his short hair, caressing his scalp. They cling to one another, bound together. Once she was broken, a damaged vessel caught in a tempest, and he her anchor. She has come to learn he has his own wounds too, that sometimes he needs a moment, to be moored to her, to let the calm descent, and to breathe her in. Sometimes their wounds are connected.  
Like the two of them have always been. Like they always will be.  
Intertwined, interwoven, infallible.  
His lips slide up to her neck, nip gently above her pulse, and he begins to move inside her again. Her arms tighten their hold on him, her hips shift, roll into his, and they rock together on the mattress, a messy, slow, tempo, but it's enough. It creates friction, and he hits her deep with each shift of his hips. He slides out, and thrusts again. The tempo builds, her pulse quickens beneath lips that struggle now to stay connected to her skin, and she clings even tighter to him.  
She peaks; her eyes slam shut, and her nails press crescents into his flesh as stars shatter behind closed lids. He holds her through it, long after the waves of bliss have subsided, and the tingling nerve endings calm.  
He remains inside her, her limbs cradle him, and his lips never leave her skin.  
Attached, anchored, always.


End file.
